


You Cook, I'll Watch

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Sass and Teasing, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 23:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16334990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: Sometimes Danny just needs a night off. Fortunately, Steve is happy to help.





	You Cook, I'll Watch

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I wrote as a palate cleanser between finishing [the Jersey story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177616/chapters/37800737) and starting work on part three of [the Alaska AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12700800/chapters/28961145). 

They’ve been dating for a couple months now. Neither of them is sure exactly how long, because neither of them can decide when it really started, this thing between them. And they don’t discuss it, because that would mean admitting that it means something.

It does, by the way.

But the point is that almost all of those nights they’ve spent together, lazily kissing between sips of wine, or feet tangling together in the sand as they drink their beers on the beach, or cuddling sleepily in the morning as they navigate morning breath and morning other-things... almost all of those times, it’s been Danny who has cooked.

And maybe it’s his own fault, because maybe he made too big a deal about how he doesn’t burn things anymore, Steven, and how he’s perfectly capable of this restaurant thing, and no, that’s absolutely  _not_  how you cook pasta, what are you a Neanderthal?

But tonight, he just doesn’t want to do it.

(Probably that should read more like—tonight he  _just doesn’t wanna_  do it.)

He gets like this sometimes. We all do, though, right? Steve does, though he would never admit it. Danny gets like this maybe a lot, and so perhaps it’s a little weird that he hasn’t since they’ve been dating. Which maybe tells you something about the impact the ministrations of a certain tall, handsome, former Navy guy have had on the mental and emotional state of one Detective Danny Williams.

The point is. He’s feeling whiney. And mopey. And a little bit snarky. And there’s a bottle of red already open, right there on the kitchen counter. So when Steve walks in, and sees Danny, sipping from what’s a probably-too-full glass of wine, and leaning in a way he imagines is somewhat seductive—or maybe just a mockery of seductive, he’s never really sure which he achieves—and he asks Danny “What’s for dinner?” Well. Maybe he should have seen it coming, is Danny’s point.

“I dunno, Steven, what  _is_  for dinner?” And he takes a slow, purposeful sip of the wine, breathing it in like you’re supposed to do, trying not to choke on it, trying to be a grown up about this. “You are going to cook dinner.  _I_ am going to drink wine.” And he sets his glass down and hoists himself up onto the kitchen counter, as though he’s settling in for what he imagines will be a good show of things.

And maybe it’s a little bit like Steve’s been waiting for this. Hoping for it? And it sure seems like he’s prepared for it. 

He grins. Grabs a wine glass from the cupboard that’s behind Danny, and maybe he doesn’t really have to get quite that close, but he does, and he doesn’t step as far back as maybe he should when he pours himself a glass of wine, and he looks at Danny like he’s appetizers.

“I got this, baby, you just sit right here and watch.”

And it’s not like Danny doesn’t know Steve  _can_  cook. He’s certainly heard it enough, not from Steve directly—that was more about microwave fucking eggs—but he’s not actually seen it all that often, unless it comes barefoot at the grill, beer in one hand, tongs in the other, slabs of something huge sizzling over flickering flames.

This. This is different. This is precision slicing, careful sautéing, well-tended basting, and browning, and turning, adjusting. It’s finesse, it’s attention to detail. It’s damn near tender.

And it’s maybe because of Danny’s mood, or the wine he’s been drinking too quickly, or something in the air, but it’s frankly sexy.

And it starts to give Danny some ideas. Of other things he’d like to watch.

He’s not sure if Steve picks up on anything. He seems so focused on his craft—because really, that’s what Danny has to call it. Steve’s cooking like it’s art. Three times he brings Danny tastes. Three times Danny wants kisses, and Steve doesn’t give them. Twice Steve comes for more wine. Twice he presses closely enough into Danny to know exactly just how much he’s enjoying this little show Steve’s putting on. Twice Steve walks away, grinning smugly, doing nothing about it.

Steve leaves him sitting on the counter, goes to set the table out on the lanai. Comes back for the food. Still Danny sits on the counter. Steve comes back. Stands in the doorway grinning.

“You coming?”

Danny smirks. “I had hoped....”

Steve bites his lips together to smother his laugh. “Later. If you’re good.”

So they eat. And it’s fucking fantastic, and Danny almost doesn’t want to admit it. Almost wants to pretend it’s not, but he’s had enough to drink that it’s just not possible. Besides it probably wouldn’t have been possible anyway. And it makes Steve so happy, to watch Danny enjoy what he made, it fills Danny’s heart in some weird way... a way that probably more than hints at that whole  _it does mean something_  side of things.

And maybe something of what he’d had running through his mind, back in the kitchen, really did transfer to Steve, or maybe Steve was already heading down that path himself. But somehow, when they head in to clear the dishes, Steve loses his shirt along the way, and Danny pauses, in the hall, just kind of thinking... _Huh. Well, that’s part of the way there at least_. So he resumes his place on the counter, and Steve tosses him a towel for drying, and comes far closer than he needs to, to hand him the first dish to dry... and he lingers what feels to Danny like more than a little too long. Which is maybe why his eyes trail, luxuriantly, down Steve’s bare chest, following the lines of his abs, slipping down to his pants, slung low as usual, on his hips.

Steve smirks. Pops the button, slides the zipper down, steps easily out of his pants, and Danny’s been sleeping with him for long enough to not be shocked by the absence of any sort of underwear.

He resumes his dishwashing, and it’s not till he takes the roasting pan, clean and now dry, from Danny’s hands, and sets it aside, that he lingers again in Danny’s personal space.

“Thought about that much have you?” He asks, softly, teasingly. As if he wasn’t teasing enough, standing there, on full display.

Danny shrugs. Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t, he’s honestly not certain—he has lots of thoughts about things he’d like to watch Steve do naked, it’s hard to keep track. Can you blame him? Steve’s as comfortable in his body naked as he is clothed. Sometimes Danny thinks it doesn’t matter to Steve how much clothing he’s wearing—certainly that makes sense, given how little care he puts into his wardrobe. Not like Danny, who does care, very much, about what’s on his body, thank you, and knows the value of a good outfit to instill confidence and comfort and authority. Steve, well. He has no need for any of that. Steve is just as authoritative naked as he is clothed, and maybe that’s one of Danny’s favorite things about being fucked by him.

It’s certainly one of his favorite things now, as Steve lifts him, easily, over his shoulder and carries him upstairs to—presumably, hopefully—have his way with him. Or, really, _Danny’s way_ , since the way Steve’s playing this, it’s all on Danny.

Thing is.... This, all of it... it’s on both of them.

It has been, from that first tentative kiss, met exactly in the middle of the Camaro, neither of them moving more than exactly their half of the space. From that first time in bed, where each move was countered, matched, met precisely, evenly, equally. Solidly.

It’s evolved since then, in this time while they’ve been dating and not calling it something more. It’s too much for dating now. It’s spilling over with not-saying that it’s everything. But it is.

And maybe someday they’ll see that. Maybe someday it won’t just be about who cooks, who drives, who makes the coffee. Maybe someday it will be about who says it first. Who asks first.

Maybe this was the first step towards that—Danny refusing to cook, Danny breaking that routine. And maybe this is Steve’s way of saying he _knows_ it’s more. 

Maybe someday it’ll be easier to say it, to admit it.... But for now, maybe this is what it needs to be, and maybe that’s okay. 

For now. 


End file.
